


Highway Games

by alto (themorninglark)



Category: Free!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Roadtrip, Tokyo - Freeform, Traffic jam, car games, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2419577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/alto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto and Haru are stuck in traffic, and unfortunately, Makoto only knows one car game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Highway Games

**2 hours, 59 minutes**

Makoto doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s as red as a traffic light. Never mind that they haven’t actually _seen_ a traffic light in the last two hours, because they’ve been stuck in this jam on the highway, and this is absolutely the last time ever, ever, that he proposes a roadtrip out of Tokyo over the weekend.

Either that, or they’re packing bicycles next time so that they can just abandon their car and cycle home if they ever get into traffic like this again.

Because he’s not enduring another three hours trapped in a small car with his best friend, or his - god knows what, right now.

He sneaks a glance at Haru, who’s tapping absently at the wheel to the beat of the music, staring out his side of the window. There’s a red tinge burning up on his cheeks, and Makoto knows he’s probably dying inside of embarrassment.

_Good. That makes two of us, then._

 

//

 

**0 hours, 10 minutes**

“Traffic seems a bit slow, huh?”

Makoto’s leaning forward, gazing out of the windscreen at the cars starting to pile up in front of them.

Haru’s behind the wheel. It always surprises others, when they learn that Haru drives on their weekend roadtrips.

“You just seem more like the responsible sort, Tachibana-kun,” say their university friends, laughing. It’s okay, because Haru never seems to take offence.

Makoto just smiles sheepishly and changes the subject, because he isn’t quite comfortable enough with any of them yet to freely admit what Haru, Nagisa, Rei, Rin and the others all know -

Makoto is just too damn scared to drive.

He _has_ a driving licence. He was pretty much forced into getting one, to help his parents ferry the twins around, the minute he hit legal age, but it doesn’t mean he likes it. He likes it even less in the big cities, where there are too many vehicles and horns and traffic lights and pedestrians.

So their arrangement is that Haru drives, and Makoto reads the maps and makes sure they have plenty of stops wherever there’s water, which suits them both just fine.

“Hmm. Yeah,” says Haru, following Makoto’s gaze. “I guess we’ll get back a little later today.”

“Should I message Aizawa-san and let her know we’ll be late for dinner?”

Haru studies the traffic ahead for a bit. They’re still moving down the highway towards Tokyo, albeit a little slower than usual. “I think we’ll be okay,” he says. “It’s only five.”

Makoto nods. The drive home from this point doesn’t normally take more than half an hour. Even if traffic’s bad and they’re stuck here for an hour, they’ll be back by six o’clock, he figures.

 

**2 hours, 57 minutes**

“I like watching you swim.”

Haru rolls his eyes. “You’ve said that one already. Like, ten times, at least. Tell me something I don’t know.”

How does he put it? It’s not as simple as that, but the words don’t come. He’s moved beyond delirium to exhaustion now, and really, _really_ needing a toilet.

They move forward by about an inch, which is further than they’d managed to progress in the ten minutes before this. Small victories.

“When you’re in the water, Haru, I just… can’t stop watching. The way you move is so… so… captivating.”

What the _hell_ is he saying? Wasn’t the eye thing and the laugh thing bad enough already?

That thought apparently doesn’t come quite fast enough to Makoto’s mind, because to his horror, his mouth is still moving.

“You know, when we went to the club for the first time, all the other kids pointed and gawked at you because you were _fast_ , but I don’t like watching you swim because you’re _fast_ , I like watching you swim because you’re _beautiful_.”

Makoto stops to take a breath, and also, to bury his head in his hands and lean against the front of the car. He’s mortified. A sudden, hushed silence falls over both of them.

_Dammit. I went too far, this time, didn’t I?_

Haru mumbles something, then, so soft he can’t hear it.

Makoto lifts his head from his hands. “Haru?” he prompts, quietly.

Haru’s turning pink, and he’s looking down at his lap, refusing to meet Makoto’s gaze.

Makoto can count the number of times he’s seen Haru blush like this on one hand. He can feel his own face turning hot, too. He doesn’t quite dare to say Haru’s name again, for fear it’ll come out a breathless whisper, and betray his emotions right this instant.

He simply waits, and doesn’t take his eyes off Haru.

“I like the way - ” Haru starts, then stops.

Makoto leans closer, and Haru finishes his sentence, under his breath. Quietly, just for the both of them to hear.

 

**0 hours, 30 minutes**

“Makoto.”

Haru has about a dozen different ways of saying his name.

They all sound the same to others, but Makoto knows each one of them intimately.

_”Makoto.” Help me out here._

_”Makoto.” I’m hungry._

_”Makoto.” Someone’s annoying me. Get them off my back._

_”Makoto.” Is everything okay?_

This was the one that meant, _we’re in trouble_.

Makoto had just been starting to nod off, but he sits up straight at the sound of Haru’s voice, saying his name like that. “What is it?”

“The radio. Did you hear?”

“What? No, sorry, I was…” He trails off, guiltily, but Haru doesn’t seem to notice or mind.

“Traffic accident. A serious one,” says Haru. He reaches down and turns up the volume on the radio. There’s a song playing now, but the traffic report will probably kick in again once it ends.

“Where?” asks Makoto, though he has a sinking feeling he already knows the answer.

Haru turns to him, nods through the windscreen to the pileup in front of them. “Somewhere up there. All the lanes are blocked, except one. We’re going to be stuck here for a while… a long while.”

“Oh god, Haru.”

Haru slumps down over the wheel. “Told you we should’ve stayed longer at that last beach.”

 

**2 hours, 33 minutes**

It’s Haru’s turn. He takes a long time to think of things.

“I like your orange and yellow t-shirt.”

“Wait, that’s cheating,” Makoto accuses. “That’s not a _thing about me._ ”

“Is too,” says Haru, belligerent.

“No, that’s a thing about _my t-shirt_.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is I’m not my t-shirt.”

It sounds so ridiculous, Makoto starts laughing again. Cabin fever now. Definitely cabin fever. He can feel the delirium bubbling up from inside.

Next to him, Haru’s smiling, then he starts laughing too.

It’s so rare to hear Haru laughing like this, pure, unadulterated, genuine laughter, that Makoto stops for a second and his breath hitches slightly, just to watch his best friend.

Haru catches Makoto staring. “What?” he says, the laugh crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“I like your laugh.”

“Shut up,” says Haru, but he’s still smiling.

“Do I win the game of outrageous flattery?”

“You’re still not sitting in my lap. You’d crush me.”

Haru turns his blue-eyed gaze straight onto him, and Makoto feels something imploding within that isn’t just the delirium.

Oh, thinks Makoto, he’s in trouble now. He dimly remembers, about an hour ago (god, where had the time gone?), saying something like, _your eyes are like the ocean._ Had he _really_ said that? What on _earth_ had possessed him?

They’ve made some progress down the highway in the last fifteen minutes or so, but not much. Still, according to the radio, the accident site isn’t too far away. Once they clear that point, it should be smooth sailing.

 _Should be_ being the operative word, of course. They should have been home two hours ago. They shouldn’t have said any of this to each other. But it’s too late to turn back, now.

 

**0 hours, 43 minutes**

“Makoto.”

This is bad. This is the _I need mackerel, now “Makoto.”_

“No,” says Makoto, apologetically. “We don’t have any. You ate the last tin at the rest stop up the road.”

Haru turns to him, his face a picture of woe.

Makoto sighs. “Do you want me to drive?”

“No!” snaps Haru. “Don’t be stupid.”

And Makoto does know he’s being stupid. He’d drive himself to the very precipice of madness, and possibly tip right over, if he were in Haru’s position. He’d be constantly gripping the wheel, worrying about how to get them out of this, worrying about squeezing into every little pocket of space he sees opening up, getting stressed when he sees other cars overtaking them.

Haru’s laid-back personality is exactly what a driver in this situation needs. They can’t fight it, so all they can do is - well - just wait.

Haru would probably say something like, _see where the tide takes us._

 

**2 hours, 2 minutes**

“Hmm. I really need to pee.”

“Oh god, Haru, why did you have to say that?” wails Makoto. “Now _I_ need to, too.”

Haru gives him a sidelong glance, his lips curving up into a small smirk. “I like how easily influenced you are.”

“That’s not even a _positive_ thing!”

“You didn’t say we had to say positive things. Just things we like about each other. Didn’t you say one hour ago that you like my total bluntness about everything?”

“That’s different!” Makoto protests.

Haru stares at him. “How is that different?”

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I just meant I like how you’re so direct and honest.”

“Well, I like how easily influenced you are,” Haru repeats.

“Thanks, Haru, you didn’t even try to put it differently.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way either,” says Haru. “You don’t get easily influenced over big things, Makoto. Or important things. Just small things that don’t matter. That’s what I mean.”

Makoto makes a face. “How can you like that about me?”

Haru just shrugs. “It’s cute. You get so flustered.”

And Makoto is stunned into near silence. Once again, he thinks, he will never stop being amazed by his best friend.

 

**0 hours, 55 minutes**

Out of sheer boredom, Makoto’s been belting along to whatever boyband song comes blaring out of the radio for the past twenty minutes, but it’s when Haru starts joining in that he knows they have a situation on their hands.

It’s not that Haru can’t sing. He has quite a nice voice, and they blend well together, Makoto’s mellow, higher pitch with Haru’s low, rougher tone. Makoto quite enjoys this impromptu singalong, to be honest.

The problem here is that Haru _never_ sings unless he’s slightly tipsy and they’re at karaoke and Nagisa has twisted his arm into it, none of which are true right now. He thinks.

“Haru,” says Makoto, “what’s in your bottle?”

“Water,” says Haru, flatly.

“Huh. Okay.”

“I’m not drunk, Makoto.”

How does Haru know exactly what he’s thinking?

“I’m just so bored,” says Haru, leaning against the window, looking out at the cars lined up beside them. “And there’s no mackerel.”

That’s it, thinks Makoto. Some kind of distraction. That’s what they both need. Since the traffic just isn’t budging, and this gridlock has already doubled the length of their usual journey, and there’s only so much singing they can do before they lose their voices.

Unfortunately, Makoto only knows one car game.

“Hey, Haru, remember that game Ran and Ren used to play with us?”

Haru instantly grasps what he’s saying, though he doesn’t look quite so enthusiastic. “When you say, _play_ with us, do you mean that thing where they would fight over who gets to sit in whose lap by taking turns to butter us up with outrageous flattery?”

“Yeah, that thing.”

“Uh huh,” Haru deadpans.

Haru’s description of the Ran-Ren game is actually pretty accurate, though Makoto remembers it with a little more affection than that. “Let’s play that.”

“You’re not sitting in my lap. The car ceiling isn’t high enough.”

“I mean, let’s take turns saying things we like about each other.”

Haru stares at him in blank puzzlement. “Why?”

“Because I’m bored, and you’re bored.”

“Why do I need to say nice things about you? You know them anyway.” He looks mildly annoyed.

 _Such a Haru thing to say,_ thinks Makoto, then smiles. “Here, I’ll start. I like your total bluntness about everything.”

 

**1 hour, 50 minutes**

“I like… hmmm. I like your cooking.”

“I am a good cook,” says Haru, matter-of-factly. It’s not even a particular point of pride for him, the way swimming is. He likes doing it, and he knows he’s good at it.

“Okay. Your turn.”

Haru stares into space for a while, occasionally releasing the handbrake so they can nose forward by scant millimetres.

It’s getting dark. The sun’s set, and the shadows are growing longer. Everything looks kind of ghostly and surreal, with car headlights blinking on one by one, shining through the evening mist.

Makoto draws his jacket tighter round himself, and gives a small shiver.

“I like your singing voice,” says Haru, eventually.

Makoto’s eyes grow wide. “You do?”

“Mmm.”

“Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?”

“Makoto.”

That’s the _don’t be stupid “Makoto.”_

Haru gestures to the wheel. “I’m driving.”

“Oh. Right.” Makoto knows that Haru would never do anything so reckless as to drink and drive, especially with him in the car. “Sorry. It’s just not what I expected you to say, I guess.” He smiles sheepishly.

“What did you expect me to say?”

Makoto, pondering the question, realises he doesn’t actually have an answer to that. It’s not that he doesn’t know Haru likes him. He knows that perfectly well. But what _does_ Haru like about him?

_Well, I guess I’m finding out now._

In lieu of a real response, he throws another compliment back at Haru like a gauntlet.

“I like how you have, like, ten identical pairs of jammers.”

Haru smiles. “Eleven.”

 

**1 hour, 2 minutes**

“Makoto.”

This one is one he knows well. Of all the different ways Haru says his name, this is one of the most frequently used. It’s the _I don’t know what to say “Makoto.”_

“Ah, it’s okay, Haru,” says Makoto. “You don’t have to play if you don’t want to.”

He’s been singing along to the radio again, and Haru has yet to take his first turn in the Ran-Ren game, as Makoto thinks of it, and the game of outrageous flattery, as Haru thinks of it.

The first song’s ended, and the DJ is talking about some art exhibition in a gallery in town.

“Hey, we should go to that,” says Makoto. “It sounds like your kind of thing.”

Haru looks curiously at Makoto. “You don’t even like art.”

“Yeah, but you do.”

There’s a short silence. More chatter from the radio. Then Haru speaks, suddenly.

“I like that you always think of other people first.”

Makoto, humming to the start of the next song, almost misses that, but Haru’s voice, quiet as it is, echoes in the small confines of the car.

Makoto’s head whips round, mouth gaping a little, before giving way to a warm smile.

He wonders if that’s the start of a pink tinge on Haru’s cheeks, or just a trick of the light.

 

**1 hour, 40 minutes**

“I like your eyes.”

Haru stares at him in bewilderment. “Huh?”

“Your eyes. They’re a nice blue.”

“Nice,” repeats Haru.

“Sorry,” says Makoto. “I’m not a poet.”

“Isn’t Literature your best subject? Come up with some better description.” Haru orders.

The interminable, excruciating boredom of being stuck on this highway is _definitely_ getting to Haru, if he’s asking Makoto for descriptions of his eyes, of all things.

“Your eyes are, uh. Like water.”

“Rin’s host mom said something similar to me in Sydney,” says Haru.

“Ah, crap, I have to do better than a middle-aged Australian lady…”

“You really do. Pride, Makoto, pride. Have some of it.”

Makoto laughs. “Okay, your eyes are like… like the ocean.”

“That’s the same as water,” Haru points out, sounding profoundly unimpressed.

“I’m not finished! Like the ocean when the sky is reflected in it. The _spring_ sky. In the evening. That kind of blue.”

“Hmmm.” Haru looks like he’s actually seriously pondering this. “Okay. I’ll take that. I like how you’re good with words.”

“That’s a copout. That’s too easy,” Makoto objects.

“Well, it’s true. Your turn again,” says Haru, firmly, and Makoto knows when he’s been defeated.

 

**1 hour, 17 minutes**

“Hey, Haru.”

Haru’s just taken his hands off the wheel now, completely. He’s leaning back, his eyes closed.

He makes no indication that he’s heard Makoto, but one eye peeks open slightly, and startling blue peers out in the dim light.

 _Eyes_ , thinks Makoto, filing that away to say next time he can’t think of anything on his turn. He continues. “Remember when you said, no need to message Aizawa-san, I think we’ll be okay?”

Haru’s eyes fly open now. “You’d better call her.”

Makoto starts laughing, almost delirious with cabin fever.

“I like that you remember my schedule when I can’t.”

Makoto, rifling through his bag for his phone, gives a small snort at that. “If I didn’t, who would?”

“My manager?” says Haru, thoughtfully.

“Your manager’s not Gou. She has at least twenty swimmers to take care of, not just four.”

“More than twenty, I think.”

“There you go. Do you even use your diary?”

“I put everyone’s birthdays in it,” is Haru’s impassioned defence.

“I guess that’s something.”

“But it’s easier when you just remember those for me, too.”

Makoto can’t help laughing again. “I like that you rely on me so much.”

“You’re so weird. Who would like something like _that?_ ” Haru mumbles.

 

//

 

**1 hour, 30 minutes**

It’s at the halfway point of the game that Makoto starts to get an inkling of the fact that there are really, really, a heck of a lot of things that he likes about Haru. He hasn’t even reached the eye thing yet.

And Haru doesn’t seem to be running out of steam, either.

 

//

 

**3 hours, 1 minute**

He can’t get Haru’s last words out of his head. Haru probably wishes he hadn’t said them, either. Or does he?

Makoto can’t help the smile creeping over his face.

Chalk it up to the sappy love song now playing on the radio, right?

Three hours ago, everything had been so different.

Three hours later, he’s kind of glad it all happened.

 

//

 

**3 hours, 5 minutes**

Makoto takes a deep breath. Okay, maybe roadtrips aren’t so bad, maybe this won’t be absolutely the last time ever, because -

_I like the way your hand feels on mine. When you pull me out of the water. Sometimes I stay in the tub longer just so you’ll come._

Haru had said that. He’d definitely heard that.

_I like the way your hand feels on mine._

_just so you’ll come._

_I like_

_I_

_your hand_

_mine_

As Haru’s last words rattle round Makoto’s mind, raising hell and all kinds of havoc, Makoto decides that if they never get out of this traffic, if he and Haru end up trapped in this car for eternity, well - if there’s one thing he absolutely has to do, then, it’s this.

And he reaches out and places his hand over Haru’s, gentle, resting on the wheel.

Haru glances over at him. His hand tenses up a little, gripping the wheel tighter, then relaxes.

“Like this?” says Makoto, quietly.

Haru gives the slightest of nods.

Makoto’s pretty sure he’s still red, and there’s an asinine smile spreading over his face. “Did you really mean it? What you said?”

“I’m not drunk, Makoto,” says Haru again, scowling.

His hand twists round, then, to lace his fingers through Makoto’s.

Just then, the car in front of them starts to lurch forward, slowly, then speeding up. Haru sits up straight, and the hand under Makoto’s moves to the handbrake to release it.

Traffic seems to have cleared up, finally, and Makoto never thought he’d have said this two hours ago when they were belting out silly pop songs in the car, but he’s… almost _sorry_ to see it move.

“It’s past eight o’clock,” says Makoto, looking at his watch. He tries to ignore the fact that his hand’s already missing the feel of Haru’s under it. “Do you think Aizawa-san will be mad?”

“Call her to cancel,” says Haru.

Makoto looks at him, surprised. “What? I told her we’d be late, but we’ll be there.”

“Call her to cancel.”

“Haru, you haven’t seen her since last term, and since she’s pretty much your one and only friend in your university - ”

“Is not,” retorts Haru. “I have friends.”

Makoto ignores him. “You should see her.”

“Yeah well, I haven’t seen her since last term, but I’ve _never_ held your hand like that before, and I want to keep doing it,” says Haru.

He says it plainly and matter-of-factly, as always, but that telltale blush is still on his cheeks, and Makoto thinks it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

 _Held your hand like that._ They’ve held hands, plenty, yes, but not… yeah, not like that, thinks Makoto. And he wants to keep doing it too.

“Tell you what,” says Makoto, with a small sigh. “We’ll go to Aizawa-san’s dinner, but I’ll hold your hand under the table.”

“And we’ll leave quickly,” says Haru, in a tone that brooks no argument. “Then you’ll come to mine.”

Makoto smiles. “Deal.”

 

//

 

And later, much later, that night, Makoto will learn that Haru has a new way of saying his name, a way he’s never heard before.

It’s perfect, and they absolutely have to take more roadtrips, now.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this awesome prompt](http://thetachibabe.tumblr.com/post/99363628473/an-au-where-makoto-and-haru-are-stuck-in-traffic) and then this resulted. And because I cannot just take a simple prompt and roll with it, I had to do this funky time skipping thing, and I wrote so much more than I had wanted to, and... yeah.
> 
> Why, yes, I do have a bajillion other things that I SHOULD be writing, but uh... I have no excuse. Except that the prompt was great and I have been stuck in traffic often enough to know how damn weird your conversations CAN get and I really really really wanted to write this. It would not leave my head till I got it out.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it :D Comments make my day ♥
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr: http://themorninglark.tumblr.com/, where I post a lot of Free! thoughts, analysis and commentary.


End file.
